Grannymar

A newbie blogger and visitor here to my blog Tee O has written a post about reading matter in the Throne Room, this brought a memory to mind….

It must be about forty years since Adam asked his father, “What does a tickle look like?”

What a wonderful question!

It became the inspiration for his father Roger Hargreaves to invent Mr. Tickle.  After initial rejections from publishers, Mr Tickle made it onto the bookshelves in 1971, and was soon followed with Mr. Greedy, Mr. Happy, Mr. Nosey, Mr. Sneeze, Mr. Bump, Mr. Snow, Mr. Messy, Mr. Topsy-Turvy, and Mr. Silly. The books cost 20 old pennies each, and sold a million copies within three years.

Mr Tickle and all his friends in Mr. Men Land found their way into our home and our hearts when Elly was a toddler.  They brought fun and an early love of books to her, as I am sure they did, for many a young child.

My story goes back to those precious toddler days.  Miss Elly was fourteen months when she first walked.  Why would she try any sooner, when she could cross a football field faster than flash lightening? She moved like a crab using her two elbows and right knee to pull and push herself along.

She certainly didn’t want to stay in one spot for longer than two minutes when there was a myriad of wonders to explore.  I soon discovered that anything with pages held her attention. Books, magazines, colourful catalogues and advertising leaflets all played a part when I was potty training her, and later, while teaching her to sit on the throne.

The Mr Men Family were her favourites, so much so, that a stack of those books soon built up in the bathroom always at the ready to while away the time.

One evening Jack and I attended a fund raising dinner and dance for some charity. Our group filled a table.  As the evening was drawing to an end, we were still full of fun and conversation, nobody wanted the fun to end.  Since we were the only couple with a young child and needed to return and relieve our babysitter, I suggested we adjourn to our house for a nightcap. Everyone agreed.

Soon we were home, the fire flickered brightly and our glasses were charged, the party and the stories continued. One of the men slipped out of the room, he was rather fond of his pints and a bladder can only hold so much…

It was a good ten minutes before he rejoined the group.  His hands were full with the stack of Mr Men books. He announced to all that you got good value in our bathroom as he handed round the books to all our friends!  His children were all at various stages of university life, so perhaps they missed out on these wonderful books.

When Elly moved into her own home I half expected to find the walls of the downstairs bathroom to be book-lined.  Oops! George will kill me for reminding her of another job she might like him to do.  Please don’t tell her.

In 2011 an anniversary edition box set became available with the first ten Mr. Men books in hardcover: Mr. Tickle, Mr. Greedy, Mr. Happy, Mr. Nosey, Mr. Sneeze, Mr. Bump, Mr. Snow, Mr. Messy, Mr. Topsy-Turvy, and Mr. Silly.

I am surprised that Elly has not mentioned it – she could always put them in the bathroom!

In celebration of the feast of the Epiphany in Ireland, January 6th is marked by Nollaig na mBan or Women’s Little Christmas. In some households, the Christmas tree and decorations will be down and the children will be preparing to return to school on Monday.

Nollaig na mBan acknowledges the graft of weary mothers and grandmothers over the festive season - in the days long before frozen turkeys and M&S prepared meals - A time when slow cooking was a way of life and not a fashion fad.

This link will take you to a wonderful blog post from a few years ago by my good friend Wisewebwoman telling of this old Irish tradition of celebrating the day.

Tradition dictated that the women put their feet up, while the men took care of the housework.

Alas, in our house my father saw no reason to ever enter the kitchen, never mind take over the chores.  Mammy had the night off once the evening meal was over.

We sat round the fire and chatted until Nora & Gus arrived. The girls did not touch alcoholic drink apart from this one night in the year.  Neither liked the taste of the drink, but with much crumpling of faces and squinting of eyes they managed to share a bottle between them.

What did they have?

A bottle of Babycham – all of 20 or 25cls.

Padmini, whose energy and talents leave me breathless, pulled this weeks topic from her pocket and asked us to breath deeply and write about:

Breath

Declaration: I need to thank Paul at Blackwatertown for helping to dredge up this memory a few weeks ago on his blog.

At one stage my eldest brother left for work each morning dressed in business suit and ’special’ tie. He was a quiet man of routine, slow to speak, and every word uttered followed thoughtful deliberation. When he reached the office car park, he removed the ’special’ tie and replaced it with a standard striped one. This procedure was reversed on leaving the office at the close of the working day.

One morning he arrived in the car park to be greeted by the anxious waving of a breathless colleague. An urgent situation had arisen and needed my brother’s immediate attention. They both rushed into the building as my brother was briefed on the problem in hand. It was almost lunchtime before they had time to draw breath and relax with a cup of coffee.

They were in the Boardroom, and the bikkies in the Boardroom were always of a superior quality. Big brother was rather partial to the chocolate coated ones. That day he felt he had earned two. He was not alone, the full contingent of Board members were in attendance. Nothing like a threat of disaster to bring them all out of the woodwork, golf courses and wives’ coffee mornings were forgotten for the duration.

The CEO drained his coffee cup and began to speak. He was relieved that the debacle had been avoided and rather pleased that the situation had actually been successfully turned into a gain for the company. He gave credit to big brother for the major part he played in facilitating this outcome.

Realising that all eyes were now on him, my brother put his hand in his pocket for a handkerchief to wipe any stray crumbs from his mouth. He knew he would be expected to say a few words.

The cloth bundle in his pocket felt strange for an instant… Looking down he realised why. His fingers were not feeling the fine linen handkerchief, but his usual workplace tie! Blushing slightly, he rose to his feet.

“I wonder?” he began, “How much my tie helped in the deliberations!” A ripple of laughter floated round the room. Once the details of the difficult negotiations were discussed, he looked down and moved his hand to his tie once more, he exhaled slowly and his face relaxed into a broad smile.

The tie was handmade. A veritable rainbow of uneven random stripes and stitches, with threads sometimes showing at the joins. It was a gift that he had received for Christmas. Four long months of dedicated concentrated work went into the making of this unique gift.

Pure delight shone in the eyes of the lady as she handed over the little parcel all sparkles and sticky glitter. The gift tag was a one off and personalised.

The young lady was his youngest daughter and she was six years old!

Now run along to Anu, Ashok, Conrad, Delirious, gaelikaa, Magpie 11, Padmini, Ramana, Rohit, The Silver Fox Whispers, Will, Paul & Plain Joe and check out how they are breathing today.

It all began with a post I wrote about Shoe Shopping and the arrival of a 24-hour shoe shopping channel.

Frank B Smith left a comment

I buy most of my shoes on line, but my foot must be the model for the last in my size. I recall, when I was in the army (US) in Viet Nam, we would get new boots delivered by helicopter through holes we cut in the jungle. I could put on a set of ‘9 regulars’ and walk all day, which was lucky, as I was the medic and had to care for everyone else’s feet :-/
Now I look for good buys on Doc Martins. I got one pair for $13!

The mention of ‘9 regulars’ triggered a memory for me.

My father wore a size 9(UK) shoe.  In fact he only began wearing shoes in the early to mid sixties.  Prior to that he wore a Lee Boot.  There seemed to be no weight in the boots as they were made from very soft leather.  I know that because shopping for shoes was treated in the same way as visiting the kitchen.  He didn’t!  I was sent in to Bill, the buyer in a shoe store to make the purchase.  Bill was a friend and contemporary of my father.  If Bill found it strange that a young girl in her early teens bought her father’s footwear, he said nothing.  Mind you I remember taking my brothers in to be fitted for their sandals at the beginning of each summer.

Daddy made several visits to London on business through the late 50s and early sixties.  While sitting on the tube one day, he became aware of ‘Teddyboys’ - his term – looking him up and down in what he felt was an intimidating way.  Once home he decided it was time to change his style of footwear.  As it happened my eldest brother was about to get married so we all chided daddy about not buying his own shoes for the wedding.  One of my brothers and I took him to town and into a branch of Saxone.  The shoes were displayed along the wall, a new idea at that time, and we thought it might make the selection process easier.

I lifted a shoe off the wall and handed it to daddy to examine.  It was not the correct size and I was about to explain that he could lift any of the styles and examine it before asking to try it in his size.  Before I had finished the sentence a salesman appeared at our elbows and enquired if he could help us.  My father unprepared for this and feeling like a thief with the evidence in his hands, said: “I’ll have these!”

Trying to control my giggles, I explained to the sales man that it was a first venture into a store like this and to give us a few minutes.  Eventually we made a selection of three styles for trying and the next stage of the adventure began.  We had to force him to walk up the floor.  The final selection was made and with that I ended my days of buying his shoes.

I went looking for references to Lee Boots, which I remembered coming from County Cork.  This is where the cook I mentioned in the title of this post comes in.  Martin Dwyer began working as a chef in 1972.  He now works as a freelance Consultant Chef.  The link above takes you to the story of his family and the connection to the Lee Boots!

I wouldn’t mind only I had all kinds of ideas in my head for today.

We have had sunshine.  We have had showers.  Now the rain is coming down like stair-rods and beating the back windows with hailstones.

It must be the month of April.

Among all the phone calls, Skype messages and callers to the door, I found time to play dressing up.

I loved to play ‘dressing up’ when I was a little girl.  Trying on mammy’s shoes was the first thing and she had plenty of hats and handbags. Some days that was enough.

On other days I would pull down some dress from a hanger in the wardrobe and struggle into it.  When I looked in the mirror I saw a mini mammy looking all elegant rather than a little girl with curls and a bow on my hair, wearing an over sized dress.

Occasionally I would wear THE CAPE!  It was silver fox fur and it came to elbow length on Mammy.  If I close my eyes I can still feel the softness of the skin against my face.  It was pure luxury and I felt like a princess.

Thinking back now, I am sure those wet days drove mammy mad.  I was just about able to reach and pull the clothes off the hangers, then I would leave them on her bed when I moved on to something else.

Mammy had only one complaint and the sound of her voice still rings in my ears.

“Take those heels (shoes) off before you try to come down the stairs”!

It was one of those nights.

Let’s Make Love was the tune we were listening to.

Baby I’ve been drifting away
Dreaming all day
Of holding you
Touching you
The only thing I want to do
Is be with you
As close to you
As I can be……

Our chat was simple and calm as we began to relax.  We were both tired after a day that started early with plans being interrupted or changed time after time for each of us.  The music was our era and it only took three or four minutes of that first number for the stresses of the day to fade to oblivion.  We were as comfortable together as an old pair of gloves.

The tempo changed with the next song Island In The Stream sung by Kenny Rogers & Dolly Parton

Baby, when I met you
There was peace unknown
I set out to get you
With a fine tooth comb
I was soft inside
There was something going on…………..

Toes began tapping, well it is one of those numbers where it is impossible to stay still.  Without a word we were dancing across the floor.  Islands in the stream is what we were, no one in between, yet not touching.  Not touching in the flesh, but locked together in an invisible chemistry or animal magnetism…

Islands in the stream
That is what we are
No one in between
How can we be wrong
Sail away with me
To another world
And we rely on each other, ah-ha
From one lover to another, ah-ha……..

As the song faded we embraced.  Locked in our own world we hardly notice the music and artists change.

This was a special favourite: I Finally Found Someone - a duet with Bryan Adams and Barbra Streisand.

I finally found someone, who knocks me off my feet
I finally found the one, who makes me feel complete
We started over coffee, we started out as friends
It’s funny how from simple things, the best things begin

This time we moved as one, living every nuance and word.

This time it’s different (dah dah dah dah)
It’s all because of you (dah dah dah dah)
It’s better than it’s ever been
Cause we can talk it through
My favorite line was “Can I call you sometime?”
It’s all you had to say to take my breath away……..

Suddenly I felt him freeze on the spot.  Over my shoulder he had a full view through the picture window, that ran from ceiling to floor and wall to wall, of what went on outside.   Living in a cul-de-sac it was difficult not to be aware of the normal comings and goings of the other residents.

Today a hearse had just driven up slowly and stopped right outside the window!!!  The undertaker approached the door…

Thankfully he was at the wrong address and he was not coming for either of us, but it kinda killed the moment.

We stood there.

We looked deeply into each others soul and realised how fortunate we were.  The next piece began and with it, two great big tears rolled slowly down my face.

You Don’t Bring Me Flowers - Barbra Streisand & Neil Diamond

You don’t bring me flowers
You don’t sing me love songs

You hardly talk to me anymore
When I come through the door at the end of the day…

I remember when you couldn’t wait to love me
Used to hate to leave me
Now after loving me late at night

When it’s good for you, babe
And you’re feeling all right

When you just roll over and turn out the light…
And you don’t bring me flowers anymore…………
.
.

But used-to-bes don’t count anymore
They just lay on the floor
Till we sweep them away……..
.
.
.
So you think I could learn how to tell you goodbye

So you think I could learn how to tell you goodbye
You don’t bring me flowers any more…

I hope you never need to learn how to tell someone goodbye!

Aphrodite over at beaut.ie wrote about her first boyfriend.  Well….. it got me thinking!

Stephen was tall, slim and had a head of bright carroty red hair.

He worked during the week so I only saw him in the evenings or at weekends.  When he was paid on a Friday night - with real money counted into his hand - he bought me a present. It was always the same, a quarter pound (4 ozs) of Kimberly biscuits, they were my favourites.

He would take me to the pictures on the cross bar of his bike, or up Knocknarea (thats in Sligo) to collect mushrooms.

Now don’t be daft, he did not cycle all the way from Dublin to Sligo with me on the crossbar, to collect those mushrooms.  I was on holidays for the long summer and staying with my uncle and aunt.

So my first fella had transport and money!

Now Toyboys, don’t be getting your whotsits in a twist.

I was all of six years of age!

Ramana in his wisdom was ‘the picker’ this week, for our topic of:

Enforced idleness

Lil opened her eyes.

Where was she?

She knew she was in a bed.  It was not her own bed.  The room was different.  The sounds were different. Bleeps & hums – some regular others not, yet there was a silence.  No human sounds.  She was alone.

Then the questions tumbled inside her head as noisily as a pair of trainers in the dryer:
What day was it?
How long had she been here?
How did she get here?
Who brought her here?

Her nose began to itch. She lifted her arm so she could scratch the itch with her hand.  Her arm did not move.  She tried again.  It would not move.  It seemed cemented to the bed.

Then the long slow realisation…..

SHE WAS IN HOSPITAL!

Where was everyone?

Lil called out. But nobody heard her.  She tried again, and again, but still nobody came.  Feeling panic rise she screamed with every ounce of herself “HELP!”   Nothing!  She wanted to shout scream rant and roar, but no voice came.  The bleeping of the machines grew faster and louder and Lil could only lie there shedding dry tears of desperation.

After what seemed like an eternity the door opened, and Lil heard the cheerful voice of a stranger as her shoes squeaked with ever footfall crossing the highly polished floor.

“Welcome back Lil!” Chirped the nurse.  “How are you feeling?”

“How long ha..  I b… here?” struggled Lil.

“You had a stroke” said the nurse “Your body needed to sleep as part of the healing!”

Once finished checking BP, pulse and resetting the machines, the nurse came a little closer caressed Lil’s arm gently and spoke softly..

“Try not to worry, you are in good hands and we will take good care of you! Your family should be here very soon!”

Lil discovered slowly and hazily over the next days that she had fallen as she prepared for bed.  Thankfully she was not alone at the time and an ambulance was called.  They brought her here and she had slept nature’s sleep of unconsciousness since then.

Now began the struggle of the long distance runner.  Lil was the lady who sat in ER only three months earlier, listening to the conversation as an Orthopaedic Surgeon and assistant discussed her X-rays.  A broken arm and nose were the subject of their discussion.  She had been on her way to celebrate ‘Oktoberfest’, the fall was now described as a forerunner to a stroke.  A year later she would laugh at the memory that it happened BEFORE she had a drink!  As the broken arm was encased in plaster, she berated the surgeon for his remarks about her nose.  He had decided that at 75, it was not worth putting her through the pain to reset it.

“It is my nose, and if I want it fixed, you will do so!” she said adamantly.  They did!

So here was Lil back in the same hospital, with a stream of Drs, nurses and therapists continually appearing at her bed, to observe, question, massage, exercise and generally annoy her.  I called in with her everyday at her lunchtime.  I helped her to eat her meal and lift a cup or glass on the days when she was too weak to do so herself.

She moved her arm rather jerkily and slowly at first. A few words were possible but it was a struggle over a locked tongue.  She was indignant at having to identify nursery pictures of a cat, dog or rabbit.  “Do they think I am stupid?” she asked.  The crème de la crème was when the speech therapist held up the pen she used to write notes and asked what it was.

“Biro!” said Lil, very clearly with assurance.

“No, no!” said Lois, the American Therapist “It is a Ballpoint!”

An English nurse had arrived in the room in time to hear the question.  “Sorry Lois, but Lil is correct.  We call them biros in the UK”.

One day as I arrived, the door to her room was open and I heard the sound of a voice.  Stopping outside, not wanting to intrude if a Dr was with her, I listened for a few moments.

Door  Bed  Sheet Window Curtain  Drink  Locker

Each word was slowly articulated, sometimes it took several efforts.  I popped my head round the door to discover Lil was alone and propped up in the bed waiting for lunch to be delivered.  She was trying to build up her verbal lexicon by saying aloud all the things she could see in the room.

With that spirit, Lil recovered and lived to cross the pond between Europe and Florida Many times, travelling alone from daughter to daughter until her demise at the tender age of ninety five.

Several times a year her daughter and I would head off for a long weekend to break the monotony of the work routine.  Lil always came with us.  At the first mention of a few days away, Lil’s eyes lit up like beacons and she had mentally packed her bag before the sentence was finished.

Norah was the third of eight children and she bounced into this world on this day in 1884.

Carefree and full of dreams, Norah in 1908.

A year later she married my grandfather and together they had seven children, my mother being the third.  My grandfather died when the youngest was sixteen and granny lived on for another twenty six years.

Granny in 1953

I wonder which toy she is hiding under her cardigan?

That was granny to a tee,

She was full of fun and laughter

She passed it all on to me.

Always ready to play and tease,

She lead the band around the trees

Saucepan lids played like cymbals

Pot base beaten in time with wooden spoons

While penny whistles carried the tunes.

Not a day goes by that I do not think of her

Today I’ll raise a glass of thanks

Special wishes wing their way

On what would be her

127th Birthday

Early on Wednesday Morning I had a text message from my eldest niece.  It read:

Every morning Chris Evans plays Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah at 7a.m.  It reminds me of you.
Barbara xxx

Chris Evans hosts the weekday BBC Radio 2 Breakfast Show

I used to sing Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah to and with Barbara when she was a little girl. When we went for a walk in the park or to the village, we held hands on the homeward journey and skipped along singing this song to our hearts content.

I had forgotten.  What a memory she awoke and just at the right time.  I was humming it all morning and it was still in my head as I was in surgery having my eye sorted!

Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah it was a wonderful Day!